


Eat the Patriarchy

by MaddyHughes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal's Fur Hat, M/M, Murder Husbands, Sort of Political, Women's March, alternative facts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:25:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9445364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddyHughes/pseuds/MaddyHughes
Summary: Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham attend the Women's March in Washington DC on 21 January, 2017.All of this is alternative facts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fic idea by nothing-here-is-vegetarian, posted here:  
> <http://nothing-here-is-vegetarian.tumblr.com/post/156202339169/hannibal-and-will-narrowly-escape-capture-after>
> 
> and suggested on Twitter by @yuraramoon.
> 
> (Author's note: If you don't enjoy my politics, there are plenty of other fics to choose to read. This is satire.)

‘Hannibal,’ said Will under his breath. ‘This is a really, really bad idea. Like, super bad. So bad it’s not even possible to describe how bad it is, bad.’

They were in the back of a packed Metro carriage going into Washington DC. Despite the fact that they were inside and underground, they both wore sunglasses. Ditto coats with high collars, scarves wrapped around their necks and lower faces, and hats. Will’s hat was a normal navy-blue beanie that covered his curls and the scar on his forehead. Hannibal had on some furry monstrosity that looked like two grizzly bears mating. And not in a good way.

‘Principles are important, Will,’ said Hannibal. He was maddeningly calm, despite the fact that they were _this close_ to being caught and thrown into jail for life and beyond. The Metro was full of CCTV cameras. Will spotted one on the ceiling of the carriage, like a domed frog’s eye, and averted his face.

‘My principles involve not going back to the fucking Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane,’ hissed Will.

‘And they also involve standing up for what you believe in. You’ve never been one to back away from your duty, Will.’

‘We could do our duty from a safe house. By, you know. Writing a strong letter or something.’

‘Sometimes the only response to madness is to stand up and be counted.’

‘But we’re _dead_ ,’ said Will. ‘Fell off a cliff. Off the face of the earth. Technically we don’t count at all.’

The train stopped, and its passengers began flooding out. There were so many, it took some time. Hannibal waited, serene.

‘This man is rude,’ he said to Will. ‘He bragged about sexually assaulting women. He mocked a disabled reporter. He disparaged a man and woman who had lost their child in the line of duty. These are only some of his transgressions against common decency. We can’t cower in a safe house and let this pass.’

Will pressed his lips together. In their new life together, Hannibal was pliant to his wishes sometimes. But he’d learned when it was useless to argue with him. This was one of those times.

And besides…Hannibal was right. The man _was_ rude.

They filed off the train at the tail-end of the crowd and made their way up the escalators to the outside of the station. Hannibal was carrying a black backpack. Will wasn’t sure what was in it; he assumed some lunch. Hannibal never took chances when it came to food.

Outside on the street, people were laughing, singing, chanting, talking. Women of all shapes and sizes and colours stood around them, many of them wearing pink hats in the shape of cat ears. Will knew he should feel exposed, but now that they were here, surrounded by other people who were also marching, he felt safe. Maybe it was because there were so many people, two fugitives would never be noticed.

Maybe it was because, after all, they were all here for the same reason.

Normally his empathy would be overwhelming him by now, with so many people. But the mood of the crowd was upbeat, despite what they had gathered to protest. He felt light. Powerful.

Hannibal was scanning the crowd. Will hoped it wasn’t because he was looking for someone to eat. Even after all this time, just the two of them, so much of it spent in isolation, he couldn’t always tell what Hannibal was thinking.

‘What are you—’ he began, but then Hannibal’s face broke into a broad smile and he nodded, indicating that Will should look in the direction he was.

A group of women, all dressed in black pussy hats, were holding up a large banner. EAT THE PATRIARCHY it said.

And on either side of the words, there was a photograph of Hannibal Lecter.

Will’s eyes widened. He blinked. Yes: they were still there. Women, complete strangers to him, who were using the image of a _real-life cannibal_ to promote their cause. Now that he was looking at them, he could see that two of them were dressed in plaid suits, with paisley ties. Another was dressed as an FBI agent, with navy jacket and ID badge.

A third wore an actual straitjacket and mask. And a pussy hat.

‘I don’t think this is at all appropriate for—’ he began, but Hannibal had grabbed his hand and was pulling him over to stand next to the black-hatted women.

‘This is such a bad idea,’ Will whispered urgently.

‘It’s the perfect cover,’ said Hannibal. ‘No one will ever suspect.’ He swung his backpack off his shoulder, and unzipped it. ‘Here: help me with this.’

It was a large roll of material. Even before it was unfurled, Will could tell it had something written on it, in Hannibal’s impeccable calligraphic hand. He helped Hannibal unroll the banner. Halfway through, he was already shaking his head.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Hannibal. ‘We have to stand up and be counted.’

‘Not like this. _No way_.’

‘Will,’ said Hannibal patiently, ‘this march is for everyone who wants the world to be a more civilised, more respectful place. Look at that.’ He nodded to a nearby banner, carried by an elderly white lady, that read I CAN’T BELIEVE I STILL HAVE TO PROTEST THIS SHIT.

A tall black woman holding a sign that read I AM DELIBERATE, AND AFRAID OF NOTHING.

A small child held one that said BOYS ROCK. GIRLS ROCK. THE END.

A woman all in pink, brandishing SISTERS NOT CISTERS.

A person with their pussy hat pulled down tight over their eyes held a sign up saying I’M AN INTROVERT BUT I’M HERE ANYWAY.

Will could identify.

‘But Hannibal,’ said Will.

‘No buts. Help me hold up this sign.’

One look at Hannibal’s maroon and steely gaze told Will it was pointless to argue. He bent down and picked up his side of the sign.

Which read, in Hannibal’s elegant copperplate:

GAY CANNIBALS FOR EQUALITY.

‘Goddamn cunting shitbollocks,’ Will muttered, ducking his head, holding up the sign as they began to march. ‘This is the fucking most stupidest idea ever.’

‘Language,’ said Hannibal, ‘and grammar.’ But he didn’t mean it. He was smiling. He was so very pleased to be here, surrounded by people, every single one of them protesting against rudeness.

***

Someone pulled off his hat. Someone pulled off _Hannibal’s_ hat, too, and replaced them both with bright pink pussy ears. They marched and marched and yelled till they were hoarse. Will had never really heard Hannibal shouting before. His voice usually was always so measured and quiet.

But they were standing up, together. They were speaking out, along with all these different women and men and children. And Will felt connected to human beings—not just one human being, but the whole fucking race of them—in a way that he hadn’t felt…well, ever really.

He was feeling the emotions of the crowd, he knew. But for now, that was okay. That was safe and right and correct.

They were in front of the White House, now. Hannibal, grinning, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Keep going,’ he said. ‘I’ll meet you at the station again, when you get there.’

And, giving Will his side of the banner, he slipped away, invisible into the crowd.

***

Sure enough, when Will returned to the station, footsore and still wearing his pink hat, Hannibal was waiting for him. He took the banner and folded it up carefully to replace in his bag, but this time it didn’t fit.

‘Have you got something else in there?’ Will asked.

‘Dinner,’ said Hannibal. He didn't elaborate. They got back on the Metro, rode in tired silence. Found their car at the suburban station; back to their safe house.

***

In the background, the television was muttering quietly about marches worldwide, about millions of people protesting inequality. About the White House press officer presenting something called ‘alternative facts’.

Meanwhile, Hannibal put dinner on the table. He poured them each a well-earned glass of wine, and they sat down together.

Their meal was beautifully plated, exquisitely cooked. Garnished in shades of orange. But something about it wasn’t quite right. Will tried a morsel and, forgetting about Hannibal’s feelings, instinctively recoiled.

Hannibal tasted. Chewed slowly. Winced.

‘It’s not good,’ he said.

‘Bitter,’ agreed Will.

On the television, the newsreader was commenting on the strange fact that the new President hadn’t been seen since the march on Washington.

‘I’d hoped it would taste better,’ admitted Hannibal. ‘But there just isn’t very much substance.’

‘And it’s stringy.’

‘Almost…mean.’

Their eyes met across the table. Hannibal pushed his plate away.

‘Shall we start with dessert instead?’ he said.


End file.
